


A Difficult Train

by idlesuperstar



Series: The Life And Death Of Sugar Candy [11]
Category: Life and Death of Colonel Blimp (1943)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-02
Updated: 2013-07-02
Packaged: 2017-12-16 11:00:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/861336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/idlesuperstar/pseuds/idlesuperstar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Every station was a jolt back into the present, a reminder that they were getting nearer to their destination. Clive tried to tamp down the nervous excitement in his stomach to no avail.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Difficult Train

**Author's Note:**

> It's 1919, and Clive and Barbara are on their way to Derbyshire.
> 
> Series notes [here](http://archiveofourown.org/series/36980)

There was something dangerous about trains, Clive thought. They gave one time to think. The early morning bustle of St Pancras had been reassuringly distracting. But now he was settled...he gazed unseeingly at the flat dry planes of the countryside flashing past, seeing instead a different countryside, a different _country_ , in a different season; seeing the Stolpchensee, seeing the water gliding past, the fresh green of the trees; seeing Theo’s face in the spring light. 

Every station was a jolt back into the present, a reminder that they were getting nearer to their destination. Clive tried to tamp down the nervous excitement in his stomach to no avail. He looked across at Barbara and smiled, fondly. She had fallen asleep not long after leaving London, not as used to the early starts as he was. What a darling girl she was! He had never doubted that she would be, but still she had surprised him with her rare sensitivity, her understanding. That long night of talking...he had never - except with Theo - spoken so openly. But neither had she, he discovered. It had been a relief for both of them, to be able to speak frankly. They had stumbled across this new uncharted territory together, and emerged as dearest allies. They had their own private treaty, pacts agreed and made, and the world did not need to know. How lucky he was! And what other new bride would do this? He had whisked her away from the provinces with promises of London and Paris, and yet here she was, willingly following him as he hared off to the wilds of Derbyshire on his own quest.

He studied her peaceful face. She really was uncommonly pretty. All his friends had said so, with varying degrees of tact. And he’d realised slowly, dull as ever, that all the hearty slaps on the back, all the cries of ‘Lucky dog!’ and ‘What does she see in you?’ and ‘About time, Suggie!’ had been not only affectionate but tinged with relief, and even some surprise. Unsaid, always unsaid, just as the shared secret moments in dorms and barracks were never spoken of. But he was far too happy to be upset by it, and after all, it was only the way of the world. And he had Barbara! It was one thing to hope for understanding and affection. It was quite another to actually get it. At his worst moments, shamefully self pitying, he had thought that he had had his quota, with Theo. And of course that was enough. It was enough that one person knew him truly, and loved him for it. Not just anyone, either. But _Theo_. Oh, how his heart skittered excitedly again at the thought of him!

The train pulled out of the station in a flurry of whistles and steam and Barbara shifted in her sleep. Clive didn’t want to disturb her, but oh, he wished she were awake to distract him from his thoughts, his anticipation. Every thought of what was ahead sent his heart beating wildly, as if it would burst his chest. Logically he knew that time had passed since Berlin, but he didn’t feel it. Not with Theo’s postcards in his desk drawer, and Theo’s photograph in his wallet. He felt the long drag of all those years - in Africa, in India, even the _War_ \- reduced to nothing in the face of this glorious moment to come. 

“All right, Clive darling?” and he realised that Barbara was awake and looking at him. “You seemed very far away then.”

“Oh! Not so far, really. Anyway, what about you, sleepyhead! Would you like some tea?”

“Where are we? Is there time?”

“Oh yes, we’re still an hour away,” and his stomach lurched again at that. “Let’s have some tea”. He got up and stuck his head out of the compartment, hailing a porter. Behind him, Barbara stretched, yawning.

“I don’t know how you ever get used to early starts. I never managed it, even when I was in France.”

“Years of practice, my dear,” he said, fondly, sitting down again. “Military training comes in useful at times.”

The porter brought their tea in and Barbara busied herself with cups and plates. 

“Oh, Clive you clever thing. Macaroons, my favourite.”

“Well” he looked away, bashful “It’s the least I can do, after dragging you up here.”

“Nonsense. I’m happy to come, you know that. I know how much it means to you.”

“Bless you for that.” he said, taking the proffered cup. Tea and Barbara’s kindness: he felt his equilibrium returning. Though, of course, she did not know the full depth of his feelings for Theo. That was the only thing he had kept from her, simply because it was his and Theo’s alone. 

“I was just thinking, before you woke up, that it feels as if no time at all has passed since last I saw him,” he smiled, lost in a momentary reverie. Theo’s fond eyes, the warm familiarity of his firm handshake, his declaration of friendship. It was easy to think of, without pain, now that Theo was so near. He glanced at Barbara only to find her watching him with a little frown.

“What is it, Barbara? Are you nervous about meeting him? There’s no need to be.”

“It’s not that, Clive.” She paused, as if considering something. “It’s just - it’s a long time, seventeen years.”

“Not to me, it’s not.”

“Maybe not” she said, gently. “But you must see that Theo has - well, he’s not had the same experiences you have.”

“Well, I know that!” he said, bemused. “But - you’ll see. It will be like old times.”

“Clive” and her voice was kind, but he could see she was worried still. Silly thing.

“Clive - he’s been a prisoner. You don’t know quite how long for. And on the losing side, as well. It’s bound to have affected him, even a little.”

“Oh” Clive blustered, putting his cup down. “Well, yes, maybe - ” though in his heart he could not credit it “but underneath he’ll be the same Theo. And - well, you know. He’s - my dearest friend.” Oh how his heart leapt at that! “And that’s more than any war.” He looked out of the window, suddenly embarrassed at his forceful declaration. And then Barbara’s hand was on his. 

“I know, darling, I know. And I’m sure that has not changed. I just want you to be prepared, that’s all.” She looked so lovely, even though her face was clouded with concern.

“I am. I will be. It will be fine! Now - ” he said, dismissing the subject “can I have a macaroon?”

“Well, if you must” she grinned. “So much for thinking of me!”

“Yes I know. It was all for me, really.”

“Here you are. Do you want more tea? Don’t get crumbs on your uniform, darling. You want to look your best.”

He did, he admitted guiltily to himself. Pride! Blast this damn khaki! He thought fondly of his old uniform, the one Theo had never seen. Of course, he thought, flushing; he had sent Theo that photograph. He’d wanted to show Theo he wasn’t the only one with bright buttons, with a smart dress uniform. Wanted to show off, and not just his uniform. But it wasn’t the same, in a photograph. You could never really picture the colours; the lovely rich red, the smart gold braid. It was the same with Theo’s photograph. Clive touched his pocket, almost unconsciously, a small thrill at the thought of it. And now the Germans had changed their uniforms too. Those grey ones were not a patch on Theo’s lovely dark blue.

“Darling?” and Barbara was handing him tea.

“Oh, thank you.”

“You were miles away again.”

“Was I? Sorry.” He smiled sheepishly “Getting nostalgic for my old uniform.”

“Well, I can’t believe you looked any more handsome in that than you do now” she said, a tease in her voice.  

What a girl she was! Clive looked at her happily eating a macaroon, with the sunlight catching the auburn in her hair, and was overcome with gratitude that she was here.

“My dear,” he said, smiling, “have I told you how lucky I was to have found you?”

“Almost daily, Clive” she said, happily, her eyes sparkling.

“I shall continue to say it daily” he pronounced “and it will neverstop being true.”

“And every day I shall tell you in return how lucky _I_ was that you found me” she said “and that will never stop being true either.” She ducked her head, almost shyly. “Clive. I - I could never have hoped - ” she faltered, uncharacteristically, and he reached across to cover her hand with his. 

“You needn’t say it, old thing” he said, almost embarrassed. “I know. I know.” He gazed at her, in that moment, with the sun streaming into the carriage and the countryside rushing past, and it felt as solemn a moment as when they had made their marriage vows. And then she was smiling, self-consciously, and laughing with him, aware of all that had passed between them.

“Do you want the last macaroon?” she asked.

“Now I _know_ that you care for me!” he teased.

“I notice you’re not saying no, Clive Wynne-Candy!”

“Let’s split it, Barbara Wynne-Candy” he pronounced, still marvelling at the newness of the name. “Let us solemnly swear” he said, portentously, “to always split the last macaroon.” And he held out his hand. Barbara took it, shook it firmly.

“I swear.” she said, gravely. They settled back, happily, with the world rushing past, the sun strong over the summer landscape, hot and bright; as the train rattled them onto Derbyshire, to Hadleigh Hall, to Theo. 

 

* * * * * * *

 

“Theo!” oh God, yes, yes, it really was him! Clive’s heart was thudding in his chest. For a jarring moment he was expecting Theo by the Stolpchensee, but then it resolved into this Theo, here. Here! Finally, _finally_ , here he was. Clive strode towards him, the blood singing in his veins, his unruly heart pounding at every step, overflowing. The other men around melted away, though he barely noticed. And then he was in front of Theo, as if his entire life had brought him to this point, to this moment here, to Theo; real, true and impossibly dear. He could - he was close enough to touch, and Clive was reaching a hand out to his chest to see that he was - real, real and warm and  - 

            and then Theo turned from him, eyes cast down, silent, and walked away. 

 

 

 

Cracked, thought Clive, stupidly, staring after Theo. I’ve cracked. This hollow awfulness in his stomach. This terrible lurch of his heart. This, no - this - it wasn’t real. It couldn’t be. Theo’s cold back, walking away. This - Clive thought that if he moved he would crumble. He vaguely heard the music start up again and forced one foot in front of the other. God, he had to get out of there. All those German faces. All those men, seeing him like this.  All he could see was Theo’s face. Theo’s face - cold, disdainful. Not even the blank mask he wore at the duel. Worse than that. Worse now. God. God this was the very end. He found himself at the house, not knowing how he’d got there. 

God, he couldn’t face Barbara like this. Or Davies. They would know everything. It was all over his face, it must be. He felt old, old, suddenly; as if all the life had drained from him. All the joy and love and _hope,_ drained from his poor cracked heart. Oh, God. He had to get through this day. He had done it once before. Put himself back together. But this - this was not the same. Before, at least, he’d had hope. A sworn pact. _Freunde für immer._ Now - nothing. That was gone, all gone. 

“Clive?” Barbara’s voice, tentative. “Darling, here, sit down.” And her hand was on his arm, gently leading him to a chair. Oh God, God forgive him but why was it _her_ hand? Why was it not Theo’s hand, sure and warm on his arm? Why was it not Theo’s warm, safe comfort? He sat, dazed; felt a glass in his hand, took a blind sip. Brandy. Medicinal. Yes. Of course. He’d had a shock. 

“Clive - ” and oh, her voice was so gentle, so careful. He put his hand up to stop her. Could not bear the sound of her voice, any voice that was not Theo’s. He could not quite speak yet. He never wanted to speak again. He wanted to turn the clock back, right the world. He didn’t want this strange, bleak, wrong feeling. Oh, God, Theo’s face. He could not get it out of his head. All these years, carrying Theo’s loved face in his mind’s eye, and now this, this terrible sight instead.  

He was aware of Barbara and Davies talking quietly in the background. What a fool he must look. And oh God, twice the fool. Throwing his weight around earlier, in front of them, with that damned note in his hand. Thinking he knew Theo best. Oh, God. He choked back another sip of brandy. It was doing its work now; he could feel himself coming round a little. God, let this day be over. He wanted nothing more than to be home, safe in his den, with the world locked out, licking his wounds. How prescient Barbara had been, yesterday! He looked up at her, saw the worry on her face. The care. How - and a sudden realisation, despite the dreadful hollowness at his centre, that he was not alone. 

“I think - ” he said, faltering. He cleared his throat and tried again. “I think I’d just like to go home now.”

“Of course. Yes of course we can darling. The car’s waiting. We can catch the earlier train. Come on.” Her hand again, gentle on his arm, and her dear concerned face. Thank God she was here. She would look after him, get him home, keep him safe. Her nurse’s practical kindness. Later, he would look back and recall little of the journey home. He knew he’d dozed off at some point, weary beyond endurance. He had thought the train journey back from Berlin in ’02 was the worst thing he had ever endured, and he had got through that. This - he would not have survived it were it not for Barbara and her instinctive kindness. 

 

* * * * * * *

 

She settled him in the den, pouring a drink for him, knowing somehow that he needed time alone to brood. 

“You just stay here for the evening, darling, and commune with your heads” she said, fondly, reminding him of Aunt Margaret. She had liked that story. How sad that they had never met. “And then, if you want to, we can talk about it tomorrow. Things will not seem so bleak then, you know.”

Clive looked at her, felt that she truly believed it, though he could not. 

“I can’t see how it could look any other way” he admitted in a small voice.

“Darling.” She crouched down at his knee, looking up into his face. “We’ll talk it over as we have talked everything else over.” He flushed at that, at the things they had discussed that long night, before he had proposed. She must know, now, beyond all doubt, what Theo was - what Theo _had_ been - to him. “And you will see, it will not be as bad as you think. He is still your friend, Clive. I truly believe that. Whatever awful things have happened, I can’t believe anyone could know you so well and push you away for ever.”

“He - ” and Clive choked on his words “ - oh Barbara, his _face!”_ and he could feel the tears spilling over. Oh God, was he to be always crying in this room?

“Darling” and her voice was sure, as were her hands on his knee. “I know you care for him greatly - ” and he looked at her then, knowing his feelings were raw on his face, knowing she could see everything “and, - forgive me, but - he cared for you, in the same way?” Clive could not speak, could only nod his head, stricken, at this last part of him, the part he had kept secret even from her. “Then, Clive, he would no more throw that away than you would.”

“How do you know?” he asked, voice wavering.

“No-one who - who truly - loved you, Clive, could bear to do such a thing” she said, as if it were the plain truth.  

God, this girl. He found a handkerchief and dried his eyes. 

“I don’t deserve you, you know.”

“Yes you do, Clive. Just as I deserve you. You would do this for me, you know.”

“Yes, yes, of course I would.”

“Alright, now?”

“Alright now, yes.” 

“I’ll leave you to it, then. Don’t stay up too late, will you?”

“No. I won’t. Thank you.”

“Hush, Clive. No thanks. The last macaroon, remember? I’ll see you in the morning” and she smiled at him, and he could not help but smile back, as she got to her feet and slipped out, closing the door quietly. 

Was it possible? He poured another drink. She had lit a tiny flame of hope in the hollowness. She _had_ been right, earlier, after all, when she said Theo would have changed. He settled back into his chair, eyeing the wall. Aunt Margaret had always sworn that the elephant was the wisest. Not true, he thought. Aunt M had been. And now, Barbara.

Theo _had_ changed of course. Seventeen years. Nearly ten, since the photograph. God, the image of his cold face was still burned in his brain. He forced himself to address it. His moustache! His flamboyant Prussian moustache. Gone. A smaller, neater one in its stead. And his lovely thick hair, greying a little at the temples. He’d spent so long looking forward to the new sight of him without a bandage, without a cap, that he’d not thought how it would be. Well, he was thinning himself. At least Theo’s hair was still as lovely as it had been. Oh God, he hoped Barbara was right. She had been right so far, that was something to cling to. Theo had - he forced himself back to the riverbank - he had smelled different. Cheap hair oil, oh, how he would hate that. And different cigarettes, of course, not his old German ones. Clive would not have been able to pick him out from the crowd. And that grey uniform. _Had_ he changed so much? Would he thaw? It must have been a shock for him too. Clive supposed he must look different too, in his army khaki. But he felt as he always had. Was it possible Theo did, underneath it all?

He lit a cigarette and allowed the brief tiny hope to flicker into something a little more. He dearly wanted to believe it was true, that they would overcome this. How else could he continue? For once he could not chide himself for being melodramatic. He had thought, always, that the pain he’d felt after Berlin would be the worst he could endure. Even through the Flanders mud he’d thought that. And yet this, today, had been a worse despair. Could it pass? Could he give it this little time, now, to flow through him, and hope that it would wash away? 

Barbara was right. They would talk tomorrow, and it would look brighter in the daylight. He would always have room in his heart to forgive Theo anything, he knew that. If that made him a fool, then a fool he was. Even this awful hurt. He must try. He would not give up the campaign so easily. Not when Theo was at stake. With Theo, there was always hope. There must be. His love for Theo was the one constant in his life, and it would not alter. He would look on tempests and not be shaken. He could do this. With Barbara’s help - and dear God, how could he have known, when he found her, that they could be _this_ to each other, with no secrets between them - he would find his friend again. 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Beta by the ever-fragrant **jennytheshipper** who I think, back in the mists of time, told me it was okay to attempt this scene. Cue many awesome discussions about Barbara, trains, POW camps, and Yorkshire, and me getting excited about every train journey Clive takes involving St Pancras. Cue also me visiting places in Derbyshire that are in no way Hadleigh Hall at all *cough* Hardwick Hall *cough* especially when I know that it's shot on the Denham backlot. 
> 
> Clive quotes from Shakespeare, like he does. Sonnet 116, of course, because he is Marianne Dashwood.


End file.
